It always shocks me that people love
My poetry.
When you are enveloped in flaws
And develop through,
Get this,
Critical thinking,
You find yourself a self same mess
Just getting older and clinging to
The chemical bliss your brain elicits
When someone says yes,
This poem is something I loved.
It's an addiction, honey, but it's worthless,
For the second it arrives my consciousness
Comes in with three different thoughts,
First the emotional and egotistical
I'm the best why isn't there more love,
and then the collusion rational,
My personal poetry is meaningless to
Others except by a voyeuristic view,
There is no intrinsic value,
Finally, always, the doubt and internal
Degradation. This poetry is really
Nothing at all. Just failures like
Adam grasping for straws reaching for God
But I aspire to nothing really,
And I don't care much about anyone or
Anything anyways
I just want to be special. And it's easy.
And the talent does sometime flow nicely.
But it gives me nothing. No bread on my table.
At what point does therapy and sharing
Just excercise my own limitless desire
For pleasure and devotion.
So many counter opinions so many theories
But every time my mind acts the same
I'm just a disgusting human with a
Dastardly perspective and I enforce it on
You in lines and rhymes to be God in your
Mind if only for a little while.
And I always think,
For those this bothers most,
How shocking it is that people
Love my poetry.

Mama always told me that he was a no good,
rotten, lowlife
son of a gun

And everybody knew to stay away from him
when the alcohol was running
through his veins

Really though
It was all my fault
For tripping down the stairs

And miscarrying the baby
A bright blue baby boy
Came out silent, so ****** quiet

He was still and tiny
It broke my heart in two
seein' his tiny blue hands

We buried him under the oak tree
In the back yard
right under the swing

I loved that swing

My husband loved his alcohol
and hated my incompetence
and liked to leave some marks on a woman

But I loved him
with all of my aching heart
even with all the bruises that shaded my skin

He was the best thing
that ever happened to me
I took all the beatings and the nasty words because of it

But when he brought home that woman
Well, you'd guess I was pretty upset
But I refused to go down without a fight

So that night I lit a few candles
Put on my best nightgown
Waited for him in the bedroom

Even managed to clean all the dirt
out from underneath my fingernails.
I was in the garden all day

After all it was hard work
digging myself up from under
the old oak tree